Breaking Eggs

My mum carried out the recipe binder, and began flicking through the pages. I pointed at the page with the lemon tart recipe, and double checked the ingredient lists.

“Do you want to separate the egg yolks? I’ll get some bowls for us,” my mum said, reaching into the cupboards. Una sat awkwardly, looking at us moving around her. I think part of her wanted to say something, but her expression remained blank as usual. As I began taking things out of the fridge, I couldn’t help but be swept up in feelings of nostalgia and good memories. For as much as my mum could be an overbearing relic of the last decade, there was a lot of comfort in the idea that both then and now, she’d always be up to bake with me week in, week out. It was very different from being with my dad. It did make me wonder if I would be doing her a disservice if I chose to study abroad.

“I’ve finished rubbing the flour into the butter, Yorito,” my mum said, breaking me out of my brief trance. I helped her with the pastry, before wrapping it up and putting it in the fridge.

“Uuh,” Una said, finally plucking up enough courage to speak up. “Would you like me to help out, Mrs… Yamasaki?”

“I don’t want you messing anything up, so just leave it to-”

I nudged my mum a bit, and rolled my eyes.

“Oh, I suppose you can help Yorito make the filling,” she continued. “He’ll tell you how to do it”

I remembered that my mum probably still wasn’t fully sold on the idea that Una was a nice enough person, so I showed Una how to make the filling and made some minor, awkward, small-talky comments so that there was no way she’d reasonably be able to respond snarkily and give my mum fodder for her unjustified grudge against her. It was a little embarrassing.

After finishing everything and putting the tart in the oven, I yawned, and went towards the sink.

“Hey Una. Once we’re done cleaning up, do you want to go on a little walk?”

Una raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want to go on a walk?”

“Because we need to get some fresh air,” I said, hoping that Una would take the hint.

“But I don’t need to get fresh air,” she replied, in her typical monotone way.

“We’re gonna have a walk.” I cleaned the bowls with a sponge, before drying my hands and walking back to Una, gesturing for her to get up and follow me outside.

“We’ll be back in no time,” I told my mum. She nodded, and took out a magazine.

“Don’t spend too long out there, you’ll let the get cold,” my mum sighed.

Una grumbled as she put on her shoes, and I opened the door for her to get out. We walked for a few seconds, and I let out a deep sigh.

“I love her, but she’s a bit suffocating, isn’t she?”

Una smiled a little without looking at me. “Well, she definitely cares a lot about you. Why were you so insistent on us taking a walk?”

“I dunno,” I admitted. “I guess I wanted to talk more freely because she’d read into everything you said otherwise. That’s just who she is, after all.”

“Other stuff? Like your ship? I never knew you were into painting little models…” her voice was filled with amusement as she teased me, and I looked away.

“First of all, it’s not little. It’s actually one of the bigger ones. Second of all, it’s not really painting. It’s highly historical-”

Una started giggling, and I bit my tongue, sighing again. I’d never seen her so amused, although I wasn’t surprised she found my hobby so funny.

“Yorito, I never knew you were such a nerd,” she said as she turned her head towards me, though her eyes were still looking at my neck rather than my face. It did depress me slightly that she still didn’t feel comfortable looking at me, and I did feel my heart sink a bit. Some part of me convinced myself that she’d have gotten used to it by now, or at least that she at least thought highly enough of me to make eye contact. Unfortunately, it seemed my incredible wingwoman of a mother ruined my credibility when she decided that what really gets the ladies going is showing them 15th century naval crafts.

“Well,” I replied, slightly dejected. “At least I have things I’m interested in.”

“You say that as if I don’t,” she responded, still slightly amused.

“You were saying earlier that you were upset that your art wasn’t being taken seriously because it wasn’t the sort of things that your teachers respect… but then you laugh at someone else’s attempt to make something they really care about. It’s almost as if you only care about art being subjective if it's your art.”

I smiled. “I’m only joking.”

I don’t think I was joking, but I find it makes people feel more guilty when you pretend that you don’t really care. And if living in England taught me anything, it was the art of being mildly passive aggressive to someone who slightly annoyed you.

“Well, that’s slightly different, isn’t it?” Her expression turned more serious. “That’s, well.”

I laughed again. “Did you even talk to your teachers about how you were struggling? What did they say?”

“I didn’t, I guess I got a bit… embarrassed.” She sounded ashamed as she said that, and the awkward silence that came after meant that all I heard was the tapping of our shoes on the concrete below us. It was almost melodic, in a sense, and I revelled in it for a few seconds before continuing.

“More embarrassing than travelling somewhere to study art and being forced to return home because you didn’t even try to change?”

She shook her head. “Well, no. But I’d be putting my entire pride on the line. There’s something… wrong about placing your work in front of somebody and having them criticise the things you put your heart and soul into. I know it’s right for them to, but…that’s the thing about making something so much more personal than the generic things teachers expect. The more unique the thing you’re making, the more a criticism of it is a criticism of you.”

I once again tuned in to the chorus of our footsteps as my mind began to wander. There was something nice about walking absolutely nowhere alongside Una, even if she was usually full of snark. Part of me wanted to make a jab about how eager she is to dish things out when she can’t take them, but unfortunately my incredible sense of humour is overridden by a basic sense of human decency and tact.

“Hmm, I don’t think that’s true. The part that’s you is the idea you work on, not the technical skill when you try to physically express it. That’s just something you need to fix with practice. Having your experiences and personality generate ideas and having the ability to translate them onto paper are two different things. Just because someone says you need to work on the second doesn’t mean they think you can’t do the first.”

She thought for a moment. “I don’t know, they sort of do, don’t they? I mean, that’s why they want people to conform to what everyone else in class is doing…”

“It’s because that’s what they know they can easily work with. But if you came all the way here and - hell, might even study abroad, then who are you to go for what’s easy or conform? What’s big over here might be nothing halfway across the world. Just talk to someone who actually knows what they’re doing. You know, like your teachers.”

Una smiled a little. “I dunno. I’m still a little scared. Would you mind coming to see them with me? That way, I might not feel so embarrassed about bringing it up.”

I paused for a bit. “Hmm, sure. But let’s head back first. We have a dessert waiting for us.”